


The Roman and the Girl

by Sinistretoile



Category: Centurion (2010)
Genre: F/M, Historical Fantasy, Historical sex, Loss of Virginity, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Sex, The Romans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinistretoile/pseuds/Sinistretoile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A peasant girl finds a Roman captive in the woods and helps him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the scene in the Centurion where Fassbender's character is running shirtless through the woods with his hands bound.

The countryside is barren with the coming winter. It has fallen to her to harvest the last of the herbs before the killing frost comes on silent feet. The grey sky cast long shadows and she is afraid. There is something untoward in the trees this day. Her pulse rapid, her eyes shining bright in the dull light, she quickly cut the last of the needed plants.  
She heard the rustling far off as she picked her way through the underbrush. She still clutched the dagger tightly in her right hand. The rustling grew closer. She said a silent prayer to the gods. Labored breath and sounds of exersion accompanied the rustling. She saw his bare flesh flash just before he broke the clearing, his eyes wide with fear and desperation. She could not understand the words he spoke.  
He's dirty and bleeding and shivering. His hands were bound at the wrist. She glanced in the direction of her home. “Please. Help me.” She raised her eyebrow. It wasn't her mother tongue but her neighbors.  
Her frown is deep. “Roman?” He flinched at her growling accusation.  
“Yes.”  
The sound of hoofbeats drew both of their attention. “Come. Quickly.” He swallowed and nodded. His presence weighed on her like a heavy weight propelling her forward through the woods. White knuckles clutched knife and basket. The Roman stumbled and dropped to his knees. “No time to rest. Hurry.”  
“I cannot. Leave me. They will surely punish you.”  
“On your feet.” The sharpened blade made quick work of his binding. He pushed himself back to his feet. She braced her shoulder up under his arm. He tried not to use her as a crutch but exhastion had begun to overtake him. His state made her wonder from which camp he had fled. He smelt of horse and dirt, metal and leather, blood and death. He looked behind us. “Leave me.”  
“Nonsense. We are nearly there. Just over the rise.” He lost his footing on the way down the hill and tumbled to the bottom. Her basket spilled over into the dying grass. She left it where it lay. The hoof beats had gained on them. She pushed the door open with her shoulder. He braced his hand against the door then slammed it behind them, dropping the bar latch. He leaned on the roughened wood and looked around.  
Her home was small and shared with her elders, her gran and dah. Gran sat by the fire. Her eyes narrowed at the pair of them. “Into the room. Hurry. Quickly.” He limped into the other room of their home and collasped onto the straw bed. She covered him completely before going back outside.  
She knelt, picking the herbs from the grass when the horses crested the rise. “You there. Have you seen a Roman?”  
“No, sires. Are there Romans in this area?”  
“Sadly. If you do, send word to the king. One has escaped.”  
“Is he dangerous?”  
“Very, miss. You would do well to keep that dagger about your person.”  
The second rider jerked his head toward the house. “Anyone in there?”  
“Just my elders, grandmother and father.”  
“Show us.”  
They followed her down the hill and dismounted. She pushed the door open. “Gran, these men are looking for a Roman.” Her grandmother looked from the shirt she was darning to the men behind her.  
“No Roman scum here.”  
The man coughed in the other room. She cursed silently. “Who is in there?”  
“My grandfather. He is ill. I believe it to be catching.”  
“If you see the Roman, send word. Do not aid or approach him.”  
“Yes, sires.” She latched the door behind them, watching from the shutters until they'd disappeared over the rise and for some time after that.  
“What is the meaning of this, child?”  
“Gran, please.” She scooped out a bowl of our fresh water and grabbed a rag. Kneeling at the side of the bed, she pulled the blanket back. The Roman jerked her forward by her cloak. The point of her own dagger pressed to her throat. She gasped.  
“What game are you playing at?”  
“Sire?”  
“You offer me help on pain of death.”  
“Hush. Let me see to your wounds.” She swallowed. She couldn't staunch the trembling in her hands. “Sire.” The dagger eased back and his hold loosened. He fell back onto the straw. Cuts and burns covered his body. His body hair obscured most of them. They glared hot and red. Sickness had settled into them.  
She shed her cloak and slippers then resumed her place at the side of the bed. He lay still, flinching only slightly. He sucked in a breath. “What is in that bowl?”  
“Water.”  
“It stings.”  
“You have sickness in these wounds. They need cleaned.”  
The door opened. They fell still, waiting. “Wife.” The Roman caught her wrists. “Where is the girl?”  
“In the room.”  
“We must be watchful. There is a Roman escaped the king.”  
“The kings riders have already been.”  
“Good, then she knows.” He looked to her with fear bright eyes. “I need to dress the rabbit for dinner.” The door opened then closed.  
“I must leave.”  
“No, stay.” She pushed him back to the bed. His battle hardened muscles sent tingles through her that confused her. She pulled her hand back then finished cleaning his wounds. “Rest. I will speak with my grandfather.” The blanket covered him and spared her the blush his body brought to her face and neck.  
The Roman caught her hand. “My thanks, lady.” His rough lips brushed her knuckles before she could pull her hand away.  
“Rest. Please.”  
Grandmother glared at her from the fire. “You cannot expect him to stay.”  
“Gran. Please.”  
“He will return your kindness with death.” She pulled the cloak about her shoulders then slipped outside.  
Her Grandfather stood in the shed, skinning the rabbits. “There you are. Rabbit for dinner.”  
“Grandfather. I have seen the Roman.”  
The knife stilled. “Where?”  
“In the woods.”  
“Did you tell the kings men?”  
“No.”   
He laid the knife down. “And why not?”  
“Poppa, he was afraid and injured.”  
“Where is he?” Her grandfather came around the wooden table.   
“Answer me, girl!” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her.  
“In bed.”  
“Stupid girl! The king will kill us for harboring him.”  
“I had to!”  
“Did he threaten you?” She grabbed her grandfather's elbow as he made to leave the shed.  
“No.”  
“Then why?”  
“Were I not lost and hurt and frightened in a foreign land, would you not wish someone to seek mercy on me and help?”  
Her grandfather's shoulders slumped. “You know I would.”  
“Then you know why I had to.”  
“Very well. But as soon as he is well, he must go.”  
She hugged him then hurried back to the house. Grandmother cut vegetables at the long table. The girl reached over her for a poltice to put on the large slice on the Roman's chest. His breath sounded loud in the quiet house. She pulled the blanket back and he caught her wrist.  
“Grandfather said you may stay until you are well then you must go.”  
“I will only burden you until I am rested.”  
She laid the poltice against his wound. He hissed and arched his back. “Lay still. I need to bind this to you.” She wrapped his chest with clothe, holding the moistened packet to his angry red wound.  
“You have my thanks. You do not know the risk you bring upon yourself.”  
“I know full well the peril I have placed myself and my own in, Roman.” The girl sat back on her heels. “Now rest, the rabbit will be ready shortly and you must eat.” His fingertips brushed the hair back from her eyes. She looked away, confused by the feelings his blue eyes aroused in her. She left him to sleep in the dark until the rabbit and vegetables were ready.

 

The Roman had slipped his captors. But the harsh northern climate slowed his escape. Running had kept him warm in the trousers and covered sandals. The cold had eventually won out. Had he not stumbled upon the girl, the king's men would have surely caught up to him.  
She did not look at him with revulsion. Only fear. She did not flinch when he placed the blade to her throat. Once again, only fear. Whoever she was, she had great strenght in pushing past that fear. She touched him in kindness and with great care. He felt like a lecherous fool for the way his eyes devoured her. He should be afraid for his life but instead, he yearned to see her out of the simple dress. The way the candle light glistened on her lips ached in a need to kiss her, taste of her.  
Her skin felt soft against his as she attended him. But her grandmother was right. He would likely return her kindness with death. Or worse for her. When she left him alone in the dark, he sighed in relief. Her pretty little features knit with confusion. Did she feel the same pull he did? He lay in the dark, unable to sleep.  
The Roman listened to the girl and her elders speaking of their day and plans for the winter. The smell of roast rabbit awoke his hunger. His stomach answered in ravenous growls. Her delicate knock brought him from his thoughts.  
“Are you hungry, sire?”  
“Yes, girl.”  
“I will bring you food.”  
“No.” He sat up. “I will join you and your family.” He swung his legs off the bed.  
“Sire?” She hurried to his side as he stood. “You need your rest.”  
“I will honor your kindness by taking my meal like a civilized person with you and yours. Instead of cowering in the dark like the refugee I am.” He must have twisted his ankle when he tumbled down the hillside. He braced a hand on her shoulder as they walked to the table.  
Her grandmother moved as far away from his as possible, but her grandfather remained seated at the head. The Roman dropped heavily to the bench. He watched the girl carefully as they all tucked in.  
“I spoke with Henry today. He is quite excited for spring.”  
“Why is that, grandfather?”  
“He takes over his father's land.”  
“How wonderful for him.”  
“And he has asked for your hand.” Her dishes clattered. The Roman looked down at his food, chewing slowly and silently. The tension in the room escalated. He caught the way her body stiffened. As well as the way she clutched her tableware. The old man sighed. “Really,girl. It is a good match. As your guardian, I accepted.”  
The dishes clattered again. “I would like to be excused.”  
“No, eat your meal.”  
The Roman stole a glance at her. She glared down at her rabbit, her jaw set. She brought no food to her mouth. When the old folks finished, she took away their dishes and his. She slid her plate in front of him. He was not ashamed in finishing her meal, having been starved by the kings men.  
He rose to carry her the plate. The world swam. He felt the warmth on his leg. “Girl-” He collasped to the table then to the floor.  
“Sire!” The old man stood. He and the girl spotted the blood on the bench and the floor. “Grandfather?”  
“We must remove his trousers. Help me get him to the bed.” The girl and the old man carried the Roman to the straw bed, the old woman carrying a candle behind them. They saw the bloody straw. “Mother, boil water and heat my knives in the fire.”  
“Girl?”  
“Lay back, sire.” She unlaced his trousers and with the old man disrobed him. She gasped at the condition of his legs. “Poppa, what have they done to him?”  
“Tortured him, no doubt. For information.” The old man located the mess of tissue that seeped blood. “Fetch me clean water.”  
“No.” The Roman caught her arm. “Stay.”  
The girl turned to him and the sight of her face nearly broke his heart. She touched his cheek. “I will return. Trust me.” He clutched her hand.  
“I trust you, girl.” She pulled away from him and left the room.  
“I should let you bleed out, Roman.”  
“You should, old man.” His breath became labored. His lips had grown pale and color he had regained gone out of him. The girl returned with a bowl of clean water and knelt at the side of the bed. The old woman carefully carried the hot blade into the room.  
“The wound is a mess but it does not appear fatal if we can staunch the blood.” The fear in the Roman's eyes turned to panic. He started to sit up but the girl climbed onto his chest to hold him down.  
“What are you doing?” He struggled beneath her.  
“Hold his arms down, girl. Mother, his legs.”  
“Stop this madness!”  
The girl cupped his face. “Please, sire, trust us. Trust me.” She shoved a wad of cloth into his mouth. “Scream if you need to.” She take his hands and held them. “Do it, poppa.”  
The Roman's strong body bucked beneath her. His panic stricken eyes closed. The clothe muffled his screams. She gasped at the painful grip his hands took mine in. His body collasped in relief when her grandfather pulled the knife away only to resume when he placed it on the bloody flesh again.  
The girl brushed the hair from his forehead. Agony had finally pulled him into oblivion after the fourth time her grandfather laid the hot blade against him. She moved to kneel next to the bed. “Stay with him, child, while I fetch clean straw” She nodded. Grandmother helped her clean and salve his leg wounds. Anger bubbled in her chest. They were supposed to be better than these Roman barbarians. This was not better. This was savage.  
The girl's anger kept the desire she felt at his nude form in check. And the presence of her grandmother. She avoided the area of his anatomy that so interested her as she tended him. Thankfully, they had left him whole and untouched so her attentions were not needed there. Her grandmother took his trousers and covered sandals from the room, presumably to wash. She was left alone with him.  
She sat, watching his chest rise and fall. Her chin rested on her drawn up knees. She knew, looking at his face, his body, which her grandmother had covered, that she could never marry Henry. Not when she knew desire from a stranger. Henry had never drew this confusion from her. She should hate him. For what his people, his soldiers had done to this land. But she felt sinful lust in her heart and between her legs.  
Her grandfather clattered into the room. “We should move him by the fire.”  
“Yes, poppa.”  
“He'll have your bed. You will sleep on the hearth.”  
“Yes, poppa.”  
“Granddaughter, are you alright?” She turned to him. “Child, you shed tears for him?” She reached up to touch the wetness on her cheeks. For them both, good Roman. These tears are for them both.  
She swallowed. “I fear death may take him. Then how can we explain his condition to the king?”  
“Worry for that later.”  
The girl helped her grandfather carry him to the bed by the fire. She wrapped a second healing poltice to his thigh wound then covered him with a blanket. Her grandfather threw the bloody straw onto the fire, filling the room with an awkward smell.  
“Get some sleep, girl. We will discuss what to do with him when he wakes up.”  
“We cannot send him back to the king.”  
“No, most assuredly not.”  
The door to the bedroom shut firmly. She stripped to her underskirt, washing his blood from her hands and arms. Stealing a glance at his sleeping form, she washed the sweat from under her breasts then dropped the underskirt. The clothe felt rough against her skin and reminded her of how his palms had felt against her. Another stolen glance tempted her with what she knew lay underneath the blanket. She sighed, feeling those confusing desires pooling in her cunt. Frustrated, she roughly washed herself of fluids those thoughts inspired.  
She pulled her nightshirt on. She then closed her eyes and prayed to the gods to give her peace and release from these confusing desires, this lustful thoughts. She turned to lay a blanket upon the hearth to find his eyes open, watching her.  
“You need to rest, sire. Not watch me attend myself.”  
“I am resting.” He tucked his arm behind his head and watched her. She became acutely aware of how her body reacted to his gaze. Her nipples pulled tight beneath the night shirt. The wetness she had washed away returned. “I do not know how to thank you.”  
“For what, sire?”  
“Saving my life not once, but twice.”  
“Had I a brother or son in a foreign land, I would want the same done to him.”  
“Husband.”  
“What?” She lay under the blanket, shivering and not from cold. She looked into the dancing flames, denying the eagerness that sang through her.  
“Would you not want your husband treated as such?”  
“Yes, of course.” She closed her eyes tightly, praying for sleep. “Rest now, sire.”  
“I cannot.”  
“You must. To heal.”  
“Rest and healing are the farthest things from my mind, girl.”  
“Do not speak what is on your mind.” The girl curled into a ball, hoping to quell the desire from her person by will.  
“Do you know so much the mind of a man or a Roman that you know what is on my mind?”  
“No, sire. I merely know what is on mine.” He cleared his throat and the bed shifted. “Your leg.” She leaned up, propping her arms up. He held his hand out to her. What was she doing? She glanced to the door.  
“They snore louder than we will be. Come, girl and let me thank you.” She bit her lip and placed her hand in his. His calloused fingers closed on her hand and drew her up into the bed, covering them both with the blanket. “Tell me your name.”  
“Brigid.”  
He leaned over her and took her lips. His weakened body trembled with restraint. His large hand palmed her breast through the clothe. She gasped but he kissed it away. “Have you known another man?”  
Brigid shook her head. “Henry would have been then first.”  
“Would have?”  
“Are you not going to take his place?”  
“As your first? If that is what you wish.”  
She felt the evidence of his desire against her hip. “Yes. More than anything.”  
He winced as he moved up onto his knees. Her gaze never left him as he settled between her thighs. “I cannot promise I will not hurt you.”  
“Hush.” She drew him into another kiss, eager to feel his lips on hers. His warm body felt heavy on her but the weight of him rested between her thighs. She felt him twitch against her and her body clenched.  
“You are a witch, Brigid.” He reached between them and touched her. She gasped, taken wholly by surprise. His fingers felt softer than the clothe, but rough from years of battle. His thumb brushed over her knot of nerves. “You have bewitched me, heart and soul.”  
“Hush, sire. Pretty words will not make a difference.”  
The Roman pulled away to study her face. His brown furrowed with his frown. “I am sorry I cannot take you away from this life. I do not know what mine holds for after this moment.”  
“Then hush, sire. And be in this moment.” His mouth devoured hers in earnest. She felt the touch of him against her  
"Hold still, lovely one." The Roman's fingers pressed into her, breaking her hymen. She bit the back of her hand, squeezing her eyes shut through the spike of pain. He placed himself at her entrance then he claimed her.  
Brigid's cry died on his lips. Each thrust opened her up more to him. He wrapped her leg around his waist and pushed deeper. His moans met her soft gasping mewls. In all his years, he had never taken a maidenhead. Brigid's was exquisite. Her body asnwered his naturally. As the pain and the uncomfortable sensation subsided, she arched and bucked beneath him, pushing him closer to his release.  
But their coupling wasn't about him. It was about her. She'd given him the gift of life twice in one day. He knew the ladies of the evening liked to be touched on the knot of nerves, which was what he did. His hand covered her mouth as she cried out. Her body clamped around his in release. He buried his face in her neck and rode out the thrusts of his own.  
His spent body collasped onto her. “My apologies, girl.” He rolled to the side, wincing as he landed on his thigh.  
“Hush, sire. Now, you really must rest.”  
“No, please. Stay.” He pulled her body against his. He would be ready to take her again soon. He was sure to enjoy a second time if he could keep her awake. “I wish to know my savior.”  
She laid against his chest, listening to his rough breath. “What do you want to know?”  
“How just a lovely creature came to be here in this wasteland?”  
She scoffed. “Sire, I'm neither lovely nor is this coutry a wasteland.”  
“You are wrong on both accounts. But please, tell me.”  
“My parents died of fever when I was young. My elders took me in. My grandfather is different from our neighbors. I think he was once a chieftain. He holds very different ideals. He taught those ideals to me. My grandmother, she fears anything that will destroy our existence. You for example.”  
“Me?”  
“Yes. You have destroyed everything.”  
“That is a bit harsh.”  
Brigid rolled over to look him in the face. “The truth is sometimes harsh, Roman. You have spoiled me for marriage. I cannot marry Henry. You have planted a seed in me that will grow and will not be happy as the wife of a farmer, bearing his children. I cannot marry him because you have taken my maidenhead.”  
“I took only what was given.”  
“Freely and happily, sire.”  
“You confuse, girl.”  
“We cannot hand you over to the kings men. They will no doubt do worse to you than has already been done. And that nearly ended you. But we cannot defy the king and risk his wrath.” The Roman tipped her chin up to look upon her face. “You will return to your men. You will bring death and terror upon this land. Upon me and mine.”  
“Were I could spare you, I would.” His thumb caressed her bottom lip. “You are a rare creature and know this, Brigid. It is not simple pretty words when I say I would take you from this place.”  
“Hush, sire. You will make the seed grow roots and give me hope.”  
“Hope is beautiful thing, girl.” He curled a finger under her chin and drew her lips to his. At his urging, she climbed atop him. He scooted her down to him swollen cock. “Nearly as beautiful as you.” He untied the neck of the night shirt to expose her breasts. He shifted his hips to slide inside her. His hands held her hips as he thrust upwards. Her body answered him, rolling forward.  
The Roman's hands cupped her breasts. He sat up with a grunt and devoured her nipples one at a time. Her soft cries grew louder with each thrust. His arms wrapped under hers to hold her shoulders. He pounded into her. “Bite me and scream into my flesh.” She did as he said, biting the muscle of his shoulder, her screaming moans muffled against his salty flesh.  
The ball of pleasure in her belly built every time he buried himself in her until she set her teeth in a final cry of relase. He grunted, the pain spiking him closer to his release. He grabbed her hair and crushed her mouth to his. His thrusts grew hard, animalistic. Adrenaline blocked out the pain of his leg and his chest. The myriad of stinging wounds come alive with the sweat of their passion. She whimpered, melding to him and that simple act of supplication threw him over.  
The Roman rested his forehead to hers. “You are mine, Brigid. Do not marry Henry. I will return for you.”  
“Yes.” He longed to hold her through the night, but he wouldn't repay her elders kindness by throwing this stolen coupling in their faces. He pulled the nightshirt back up over her shoulders and tied it.  
He tasted of her lips again. “Rest, my girl.” He rolled to his side so that he could watch her fall asleep. She did just that, warmed by passion and the fire.

The knock startled Brigid. She peeked out the shutters. The king's men had returned. She covered the Roman but he caught her wrist. “If they take me, do not fight. I will return for you.” Her grandmother looked up.  
“Answer it, girl.”  
She opened the door. “We received word you aided a wounded man.” Her head snapped around to her grandmother, who carefully avoided her glare.  
“I did, sires.”  
“Where is he?”  
“Asleep by the fire.” She pointed to her lover.  
The men pulled the blanket back. Her lover did not fight or yell. “This is him.” The second man grabbed her arm. “You will be punished for aiding the prisoner.” They bound his wrists. She knew in her heart he would do something stupid when they left.  
“Leave her. She did not know I was Roman. I told her I was Pictius, escaped from a Roman camp.”  
“Very well. Be thankful for your ignorance, girl.” They jerked him to stand, causing him to wince. She tried to go to his side, but the second man yanked her back.  
“None of that.” The second man shoved her backwards as they dragged him outside. Brigid ran up the hillside as they took him away. He glanced back at her. I felt an acute sense of loss. I would never see him again.


	2. Chapter 2

Brigid stoked the fire. The wind howled against the shuttered windows. Her grandmother sat near the hearth. The door clattered open. "Hurry, child. You must run."  
"Granda?"  
"A Roman garrison approaches. There are fires in its wake. Can you not smell it?"  
She had thought the fire's smoke a bit much this day. "What of you?"  
"We are old. We will not make it far. We will only slow you down."  
"I told you girl. You showed that dog kindness and he repays you and yours with death."  
"He is not among them. I believe they are searching for him." Her grandfather turned to her. "Brigid, you must go. They travel north so head west, toward the setting sun. When you reach the coast, seek refuge on a boat. The Tuetons take in many."  
"I-"  
"Take only what you can comfortably carry and dress warm. Now, go!" Her grandfather clutched her against his chest then held her at arm's length. "Go, child." Brigid grabbed a water skin, some cured meat and vegetables, along with two loaves of bread and wrapped it in a large fur blanket.  
Her elders murmured between them as she pulled on the two extra underskirts she owned and wrapped herself in her fur lined cloak. "Child, perhaps you should head north ahead of the garrison and seek refuge with the Pictish king."  
"What? After what they did to the solider?"  
"Listen, you are of child baring years. You are young and strong. They will put you to work somehow."  
"And what when the garrison attacks the king?"  
"That I cannot say. But until then, you would have warmth and food and shelter." Brigid lifted her hood and tied it around her throat. She wouldn't know where her feet took her until they did so.  
Her breath thundered in her ears as she hurried through the trees. A pair of screams reached her. She stopped and looked around frantically. It had come from the direction of their hovel. Her heart hammered in her chest. Hoof beats thumped toward her. The screams cut off.  
Brigid looked around her. Nothing. Nothing but barren trees and stark white snow. She could run but they'd track her easily. The soldiers approached. They cut an intimidating path, swathed in armor and fur. Was this what her Roman looked like when he wasn't fleeing from the king's men?  
Two of the horse-mounted exchanged words. Words she didn't understand but had heard the Roman speak when she'd first found him. A third soldier moved to the front.  
"Why are you not running?"  
Pictish. She gathered the cloak and furs at her throat. "There is no point. You have skilled trackers. There is fresh snow. You would find me no matter where I ran or hid."  
The soldier relayed it to the mounted Romans. "Smart. Where is your village?"  
"I live in the home you presumably just left."  
The soldiers exchanged in heatedly in their language. "You are being far too cooperative. What are you playing at, girl?"  
"I play at nothing."  
One of the horse mounted soldiers leaned forward on his steed’s head. “Do you seek to delay us so that we may be ambushed?”  
She laughed and the Romans exchanged looks between themselves. “Who would ambush you? My grandmother? My grandfather? Functioning though frail in their years and surely dead by your hands moments ago.”  
“Why not fear us then?”  
She drew in a breath and squared her shoulders, lifting her chin. “Because I seek the same Roman you seek.”  
The soldier standing closest to her seized her throat and brought her close, bending her knees and bowing her back. “You are playing at dangerous things, girl.”  
She swallowed her fear. “He escaped the king. I found him in the woods. My grandfather and I tended his grievous wounds. He thanked me with his body. Then the king’s men returned and took him away. He said he would find me, that I belonged to him now.”  
The soldier held her at the awkward angle as he spoke to the man on horseback. “She claims she gave Quintus aid when he escaped the king. That the king’s men recaptured him but not before he claimed her as his property.”  
“Take her with us then. If she is truly Quintus’s whore, he will be upset if we damage her. She is safe until he can confirm her story.”  
“And if he denies it?”  
“Then you may have her first.”  
“You are coming with us then.”  
“Where are we going?” The soldier let her go but the group turned and headed back the way they’d come. “You go the wrong way!” They didn’t stop, but she didn’t follow. “Stop!” She glanced over her shoulder. She could still run but they would overtake her. “I know where Quintus is!”  
The soldiers finally stopped. The one on horseback who had spoken to her leaned down and spoke softly to the soldier who had not put his hands on her. He trudged back while the rest of their party continued on.  
“Show me.”  
“It is a day’s journey. The snow will make it longer.”  
“I do not care. You are correct that we seek Quintus. My commander will stop at nothing to find him. And if you are wrong, he will kill you.”

The soldier made a fire late in the day, for warmth and to ward off predators. He caught them a rabbit. Brigid surprised him by plucking the dead thing from his hands, skinning and gutting it then tying it to a spit she’d fashioned from fallen branches while he’d been hunting it. He watched her pick through the snow fallen underbrush to find edible mushrooms. It was only handful but it was something more in their bellies.  
“What is your name, girl?”  
“Brigid.”  
“Mathias.” They fell silent as they ate the rabbit. He cast long glances at her. He could see why Quintus had comforted himself with her body. She was quite comely. But to claim her? Perhaps she’d cast a spell on his captain. She caught him staring at her but said nothing. Mathias swallowed. “Are you a witch?”  
“Not hardly. Were I a witch, do you think I would be freezing in the woods with a Roman soldier? Were I a witch, do you not think I would have kept Quintus from being taken?”  
Mathias fell silent. Both her questions made good sense. He lay on the ground next to the fire. “Come here, girl. We will keep each other warm.” He watched her face as she finished chewing. When she’d had her fill, she lay on the ground between him and the fire.  
He felt the point of a dagger press to his lower belly. “If you try to force yourself on me, I will gut you.”

Fire quenched and bodies stretched, Brigid and Mathias continued north. The snow started up again before they reached the king’s compound. They rested on their bellies on a rise that let them see over the high fence, just barely.  
“How do you know he is there?”  
Brigid started to speak but she heard the soldiers yell in the camp. “Bring out the Roman!” Emotions cascaded over her pretty face like a waterfall as she watched them drag him out of hut. He fell to his knees. They’d beaten him again. Lash marks and burns festered on his chest and back. His face and hair were dirt covered and matted with blood.  
Brigid turned to him. “You must save him. He cannot endure much more. He will surely die.”  
“What can I do on foot?”  
“We will get you a horse.” Brigid scooted down the rise and disappeared into the trees.  
“Girl. Girl. Come back.” His whispered yell did nothing to conjure her reappearance. He cursed to himself as he scooted down after her. He heard the voices and the hoof beats as he came through the trees. A horse mounted guard was leaned down and speaking to Brigid. He looked up at the Roman. His eyes widened and he began to straighten up, but the girl surprised Mathias again. She drove her dagger into the guard’s throat and pulled him head over feet off the horse.  
Brigid took the reins of the horse and held them out to Mathias. “Here. Take him and go. Hurry. You may reach my home by sundown. Then only you know how much further you have from there.”  
Mathias took the reins from her. “Why are you helping us? Helping him?”  
“Because I am his.”  
“Yes…but you are his property. His whore.”  
“Better his whore and know something of love than to die a meaningless casualty in your war.”  
Mathias mounted to horse. He would say nothing to destroy this idea of Quintus loving her. He knew his captain used women to certain ends. So long as the girl continued to help, he would do nothing.

While Brigid waited in the woods, Mathias rode back to the camp. At first, the officers didn’t believe him. But when he’d been able to describe the camp, they made preparations to return. They found her huddled by the makeshift camp she and Mathias had made the first night.  
Antony, one of the horse mounted soldiers from her first encounter with the Romans, gathered her under his arm. “Come, Brigid. We will warm you and fill your belly. We owe you many thanks for helping us find Quintus, your master.”  
She said nothing as she shivered. Antony kept her in his tent that night, letting her warm and rest on a cot. When she had recovered enough, she finally spoke to him. “Do you think he is still alive?”  
“I hope so, girl.”  
“He looked…” She struggled not to cry. Brigid screwed up her face then drew a deep breath through her nose. “They beat him again. He has been whipped and burnt and cut. He will need great care when he is freed.”  
“I will see to it.”  
“May I go with you?”  
“Brigid…I cannot let you. If you are truly Quintus’s whore as you say, he would be quite upset should any harm come to you.”  
“Then I wish to see him when he returns to camp.”  
“I can make no promises but I will do my best.” Brigid looked away from him and into the fire. Perhaps he thought she was lying or that she was in league with the king. Either way, she didn’t trust him. She wanted her Roman, not this Roman. This one had been party to the deaths her of family, the slaughter of her neighbors, her people. He reached for her and she flinched. His hand froze. “Mathias told me that you pulled a dagger on him.”  
“I did.”  
Antony grabbed her hair close to her scalp and pulled her close. “I have taken your dagger. And should I find out you do not belong to Quintus, I will take your cunt. As well as your defiant mouth and your virgin ass. It is virgin, is it not?” She spit it in his face. He wiped her spit away with his free hand then slapped her. He held her still by her hair and slapped her a second time, busting open her bottom lip. The third slap dazed her and brought blood from her nose. The fourth and fifth brought a bright red welt to the side of her face. “Then after I have had you, I will pass you around my men and once they are done with you, I might kill you to spare you or I might make you my whore. The cunt I go to when my wife and my courtesan are not enough.”  
Brigid licked her bleeding. “You told the soldier with the crooked nose that he could fuck me first. Or are you a liar?”  
Antony ground his jaw and slapped her again. She gasped and he slapped her a second time. Brigid tasted blood in her mouth. “I pray to the gods that you are lying, girl.” His mouth hovered over hers. “I will be the cruelest master you have ever known.”  
“And I will kill you.” Antony flung her away.  
“Go see about a bath. You smell.”  
Brigid crawled up the couch and stood. Her head throbbed from his slaps. She slipped from the tent and practically fell into Mathias.  
“Brigid. Are you alright?”  
“Antony sent me to bathe.” He lifted her head, taking in the dazed look in her eyes, the busted lip and bloody nose, the welt and her darkening eye.  
“I will take you.” Mathias allowed her to lean on him heavily. “What did Antony tell you?”  
Brigid did not flinch as Mathias watched her strip in the tent then pull the rope for the water to drench her. Her teeth chattered as she rubbed the water into her dirty skin. The young soldier bit his lip as he tried not to notice the inviting curve of her ass, her heavy breasts, or the shock of red hair on her mound.  
“I believe he plans to keep me from Quintus. To force himself on me.” She pulled the rope a second time, gasping at the cold. “He threatened to pass me around the men then to keep me for himself.”  
Mathias held out her clothes. “I would believe him.”  
Brigid dressed quickly. “I do not. Why share your prized sweets with the whole village when you can save them for yourself and they will last longer, taste sweeter, give you more pleasure?”  
“Why do you think Quintus will still want you?”  
Brigid looked down at the ground as they walked back to Antony’s tent. She remembered their night together. How he’d touched her, filled her, marked her, ruined her. “You will know when you experience it.”  
“You believe he loves you.”  
“He might. Men are strange and fickle creatures…but he will remember me. Whether he loves me, only he knows.”  
Mathias looked at her. He’d seen several emotions cross her face since he’d met her. Defiance, strong will, anger, hurt, worry, sadness, and love. All those had hidden themselves away. This bewitching peasant looked lost and truly as alone as she was. “I will tell Quintus you are here. That you found him and that you are waiting for him.”  
“Thank you. I must go inside before Antony comes to find me.” She hurried away to Antony’s tent then ducked inside.

The soldiers carried the stretcher bearing Quintus into the camp. A cheer went up from his soldiers. The captain took his thanks from men who had served with him and under him, but his eyes searched the faces of the servant girls. Mathias had delivered his message. Brigid was in camp. He had promised to find her but instead, she had found him. She’d been instrumental in his rescue. He owed her his life, again.  
They laid the stretcher down and helped him to stand. He heard shouting beyond the crowd of men. Her voice. He could hear his pagan nymph’s voice. The soldiers parted as he staggered to where two men held her arms while she demanded to see him. Antony, his fellow captain and comrade, refused. He raised his hand to her. Quintus shouted. Antony froze. His red haired goddess shrugged free of her captors. He staggered forward and she ran to him. He fell into her, his arm around her shoulders. She caught his chest with both hands.  
“You are alive.”  
“I am.”  
“I was afraid…” He lifted her chin awkwardly with his badly broken and swollen hand and kissed her in front of the entire company. She closed her eyes in the kiss, letting the tears fall down her cheeks. “How?”  
“I told you I would come back for you.” He frowned at her black eye, the bruise on her cheek and the scab on her nose and lip. “What happened?”  
“It is nothing, my lord. Come, let me tend your wounds.”  
Mathias rushed up to give Quintus his shoulder as they made their way to a tent set up for his captain. “I will have water brought for your bath. And I will send the healer.”  
“Many thanks, Mathias.”  
The soldier ducked out of the tent. Brigid helped him to a couch and set him down. Her injured yet still beautiful face set into a frown. “Oh my lord, what have they done to you? This is worse than when I found you in the woods.”  
Servants carried in a great wooden tub full of steaming water and set in the tent. Quintus watched her as she undressed him. “Where are your elders?”  
“They are dead, my lord.”  
He tipped her chin. “Quintus.”  
“As you wish, Quintus.”  
She helped him in the bath and began to wash him. The clean but hot water made him hiss and awakened every wound on his body. “How did you come to be here?”  
“They killed my elders and found me in the woods. I told them I belonged to you and knew where you were at. Mathias and I found you at the king’s camp then he sent for help.” They sat in silence as she finished bathing him and washing his hair, placing tender kisses on his unmarred flesh. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the gentle touch. It had been weeks since he had felt one. And then it had been hers. The water became a frightening reddish brown.  
Brigid helped him from the tub and dried him off. She wrapped a robe about his shoulders. The healer arrived and sent for slaves to take away the corrupted water.  
Quintus dropped his robe and lay on the bed. The healer flicked her eyes from him to Brigid. “You have many angry wounds, Captain. More than a few have begun to fester.”  
“Tend what you can. Show Brigid how to care for them.”  
The healer opened pots of salves that smelled familiar to the girl, like the poultices she made with her grandfather. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Now was not the time for her grief. She watched the healer bandage him. She had a different salve for the different wounds.  
“Do you understand, girl?”  
“Yes.”  
“If you have any questions, send a soldier to find me. I will help you.”  
“Many thanks.”  
The healer glanced over her shoulder as she ducked out of the tent. Antony had instructed her to poison one of the salves so that the girl would be blamed. But she hadn’t the heart when she saw the way they looked at each other.  
Antony passed the healer on his way to Quintus’s tent. Neither acknowledged the other. Antony swept into the tent. He averted his eyes from the kiss they shared.  
“Quintus!”  
“Antony, come sit.”  
The fellow captain sat near the bed. “I have sent word to Rome that you are rescued.”  
“You have my thanks.” Quintus winced as he sat up. Brigid wedged another pillow underneath his back.  
“How is that, my lord?”  
“Fine, thank you.” Quintus looked from Brigid to Antony. “Brigid, I am starving. Will you go and have some food brought to me?”  
“Yes, my lord.” Brigid ignored Antony’s hot gaze on her as she hurried from the tent.  
“Antony, I will need eight men.”  
“Why, Quintus?”  
The injured man sighed and seemed to sink into the pillows. “I am in no fighting condition. I am a hindrance to the company. I will return to Roman until I am healed. The healer said my wounds were angry and festering. There are many others in the camp who need her expertise. I will not keep her tied up trying to fix me. And Brigid cannot do it alone.”  
“If that is what you wish.”  
“It is. I have already spoken with the commander.” Quintus wondered if his former friend and ally would discover the lie.  
“I will have eight men selected for you.”  
“I will be only be taking Brigid with me. My other property is not important. Split it between the company.”  
“So you confirm her story then?”  
“Aye, that girl saved my life. Her and her grandfather. And it appears, she helped to save my life a second time.”  
Antony looked up as the tent flap moved. He frowned at Brigid’s return. “The commander is on his way.”  
“Thank you, my girl.” He patted the bed next to him. “Will you help me to eat?”  
“Yes, my lord.” She settled on the bed and tore the bread into pieces.  
“Tell me something, Antony.” The men looked at each other. “What happened to Brigid’s face? She said it was nothing, but I am not pleased with the damage to my property.”  
“I will do my utmost to find out, Quintus.”  
“My thanks.” Brigid carefully sliced the hard cheese. When she looked up, Antony had gone. “It was he, was it not?”  
“Please, Quintus, it is nothing. I will heal. You are safe. All is well.” She held a piece of bread before his thin lips. “Now eat, my man.” His eyes never left her as she slowly fed him. A heat building between them and inside them. But as willing as his body was, he was in far too much pain for them to make love. He satisfied himself with a clean, dry bed and the warmth of her body at his side.

The commander agreed that Quintus needed to return to Rome. Too many resources would have to be devoted to his care. And the following day, Quintus, Brigid and the eight soldiers, including Mathias began their journey back to seat of the Roman Empire.  
Quintus lay in the covered cart, staring at the rippling cloth. The cart rolled to a stop and the flap opened. “Captain, please tell the girl to get in the cart.”  
“What is the problem?”  
“She has collapsed twice.”  
“Bring her here.” One of the bigger soldiers disappeared from view and returned within moments.  
“Put me down, you. Unhand me!”  
“Brigid! My girl, stop fighting. Come rest.” The big man dropped her onto the pile of pillows and furs.  
“Stay, ignis nympha.”  
Brigid crossed her arms over her chest and attempted to make herself as small as possible.  
“Talk to me, little one.”  
“You need your rest. You need to heal. I am fine to walk.”  
“You have collapsed twice. Tell me what is wrong.”  
She looked out a crack in the tent flap. “I do not want to tell you.” She bit her lip and looked at the pile of furs, avoiding his intense gaze.  
“Brigid, come here.” She swallowed and scooted closer. “Closer. Lay with me.” She lay next to him in the jostling cart. “There, now that is better.” He nuzzled her neck, breathing her in deeply. “Tell me what is wrong.”  
Brigid looked into her light but lovely green eyes and her secret tumbled from her lips. “I am with child…your child, Quintus.”  
He blinked, surprised. “I never…” He laughed and pushed himself up on his elbows, grinning from ear to ear. “I did not expect- what I mean to say is-“  
“You are not angry?”  
“Angry? No. Surprised and pleased, most definitely.” His smile faltered. “I cannot promise marriage. I am soldier of privileged birth. I cannot marry a conquered slave. No matter how much I might care for her or come to love her one day.”  
“I do not ask for marriage. Only that the child be taken care of.”  
“It shall. And you as well.” He kissed her, wincing then dropping back into the pile of furs. “I will not always be there. But you will always be mine.” Brigid nestled into his side, careful of his wounds and tender flesh. So much had changed so quickly and how much would continue to change when they reached Rome. She could only imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece was originally supposed to be 4 chapters but the characters have quit talking. My apologies to anyone who wanted to see these characters progress further. I'll leave their future to your imaginations.


End file.
